Journeyman
by WhiteQueensKnight
Summary: An idea sprung from a couple of places. One, the movies pairing of Neville and Luna, and yet JKR saying that they wouldn't last. And Two, Homer, the ancient writer, not the bald Simpson. Set at approximately the same time as the epilogue in Deathly Hallows, so I'm unsure if its post Hogwarts or next gen. It's JK's Sandbox, I'm just building some castles in the corner.


**Chapter 1**

**A New Peace.**

The holly wand hit the stone floor a moment before the head, followed quickly by the rest of the man's body, an acrid tang of iron in the air, a splash of hearts-blood. The long-limbed young man panned his own oak wand left, toward his final opponent, the phrase _Ignius Protegio _echoing in his head. Gouts of orange burst from the enemy's pointed fingers, bathing the grotto in its light, the seeming rustic twig flashed and the flames shot out in a long plume, shaping itself like a phoenix, and washed over the young man.

"Sectumsempra superior" burst from the young man's lips, a flick of the wrist accompanied the words and with a spurt of crimson, the burning hand plummeted loose from the enemy's wrist, the possessed fire still blazing from it. The phoenix rose from it, engulfing its creator who screamed a long, powerful bellow as he fell. A scream that echoed through the cavernous chapel, off the grim statues and out of the survivor's throat.

The echo bounced nervously around the small rented room, snuck under the crack in the door and startled the tortoiseshell cat from the dappled stair it was sunning itself on. A door in the hall popped open briefly as the scream ended, accompanied by a small grunt, and then closed with a muffled thump. Back in the small room, a four poster dominated the space, flanked on one side by a soft burgundy chair and a side table supporting a battered suitcase with a pair of socks escaping the edge. The messy pile of coverlets, fleece blankets and down pillows writhed, rose and tumbled like an avalanche, the deep rich reds and golds revealing a shock of light brown hair. Soft grey blue eyes blinked away the vestiges of sleep and then long arms and legs fought their way free of the bedclothes. The young man, fresh from nightmare, stalked to the sink with a predator's grace, bare feet making no noise on the wooden floorboards.

"Seriously," he said to his reflection, "why always that one?" He let the question hang in the air as he splashed water on his face, the now damp stubble softening his jawline. His reflection gazed back at him with a resemblance to his father, except for his mother's eyes; eyes that didn't really see him, as his mind was dancing with the memories of the last year. "So much death and blood from France to Norway and you pick that one to always wake you? Suck it up, Xander."

Alexander Lovegood descended the rickety, sun-dappled stairs to the main floor of Dvaergen's Kedel, best inn of the region, at least for him and his fellows. The mix of French and English people who sat in the Copenhagen den was tight-knit and bilingual banter floated through the hazy morning air. He grabbed a plateful of fat sausages and sat at the head of the long table nearest him, glancing around at the ragtag bunch. He saw Evaline Creevey at the foot of his table with her plate pushed away, hazel eyes peeking out from her dark brown curls, silent and brooding. There Dominique Castile, the burly black-haired Beauxbaton sat with the dapper Antoine Lacouture, discussing meals during the trip home. Brie Pascale piped up with the right ingredients now and then. And there, in the corner away from the main group, sat a pair who gave no indication that anyone else but the two of them existed.

"If you don't do something about those two," said the flurry of brocade robes that was taking a seat at his right, "there'll be a dozen Wood-Masons under foot before we get home, Captain." The wry twist in his voice lent the right amount of humor to the sentence, just as Caradoc intended, amused but still noting the link between Ashlyn Wood and Bedros Mason was serious.

"Well if it takes nine months to get home, we're doing something wrong," was muttered between bites. And still with the captain thing, huh Doc? With the war over, I thought that was too."

"We're all Dumbledore's Army here and you the best of us, Xander. We followed you through the Triwizard War, you got us through it. Now let us get you home, oh captain my captain." Caradoc finished with a smirk.

"Yes, lets!" Sparkadia Prewett plonked herself down in the seat to his left, wearing a set of Chudley Cannons pajamas, purple hair and mismatched eyes, one blue, one brown. "There's a ferry that sounds fun shipping out to mainland Europe tonight, the Midnight Oasis, and from there, it's a hop, skip and a broom to Dover. Have you back in Snake Dungeon in time for those NEWTs we all missed." Sparkadia bustled through the sentence like she did life, full of energy, to the point of distraction.

"Sparky, I know you just woke up, but I think you missed a few things. First, please fix your eyes, it's disturbing first thing in the morning. Second, I can barely fly a Quidditch pitch, let alone the channel. And thirdly, what ferry?"

"She's right about the boat, Xander." Caradoc piped in. "I heard the new arrivals this morning talking about it as they rented rooms. I sent Fang Hua to look at booking tickets for us."

"She'll find it then. Sparky, thanks for the heads up on it. How's everyone feeling this morning?"

"Well, Sticks and Stones you can see, Hoshi is still sleeping off last night's bender, damn that Jap can drink! Long story short, the twelve of us are all happy to be going home. And look at this!" Sparkadia beamed as a flock of owls swooped in the high window, letters dropping to recipients, at least one each for the group. Sparkadia caught up the copy of the Daily Prophet first, while Xander popped the Hogwarts seal on his own.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is glad to extend to Alexander Lovegood, as a student returning from the Triwizard Tournament the opportunity to resume NEWT level studies, as promised when selected as a member of the Delegation. Enclosed is the list of required equipment and texts. We at Hogwarts thank you for conducting yourself with__ honour__ and dignity as a representative of the school, and look forward to welcoming you back at the start of the school year._

"Can you believe the Prophet still call it a tournament? There's a second page piece saying the schools are welcoming back students this year." Sparkadia was indignant.

"Sure can, Sparky, your Hogwarts letter won't call it a war either. Guess no one has gotten the full story yet." Doc joined in.

"Sure they have, I heard that the Quibbler got it right since the start. We can deal with this when we get there." Xander waved the second page of his letter. "It looks like we need some supplies, and not just for the trip home. Doc, think we can get all this here? Usually, I'd go to Diagon-"

"We can get it here. Better gather everyone up, we'll need a quick stop at the Gringotts branch here, and then, shopping" Caradoc uttered the last word with all the relish of a cat asked to go live with mermaids.


End file.
